


You Hold No Power Over Me

by swag_canada



Series: Hobbit AUs [1]
Category: Labyrinth (1986), The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: BAMF Bilbo, Emotionally Constipated Thorin, F/M, Kidnapping, Labyrinth!AU, M/M, Multi, Reincarnation, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, Young Frodo Baggins, and also an ass of epic proportions, copious amount of flashbacks, thranduil is fabulous
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-16 14:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1350019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swag_canada/pseuds/swag_canada
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'You have surely heard the tales, of course, of how when a young hobbit has a son or daughter, a niece or nephew, or anysuch child under their care that they do not want that they simply call to the elvenking, ‘I wish you would come and take this child away.’ Such superstitions have been passed down as long as anyone can remember. But it is not something to be taken lightly, lest our children truly be stolen away. For, as we all know, words have more power than we could ever imagine.'</p>
<p>aka A Labyrinth!AU where Thranduil steals Frodo away, and Bilbo, with the help of some odd dwarves and goblins whom he has an odd connection to, have two weeks to steal him back.<br/>You do not have to have seen Labyrinth to read it, but you should watch it anyway bc its awesome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> After watching the Labyrinth today and seeing David Bowie all fabulous (as always) on his throne, I couldn't help but see the similarities between Jareth and Thranduil, and so this little idea of mine was born. I guess it started as an au where the Hobbit characters were in the Labyrinth and it went from there...?  
> sarah: bilbo  
> jareth: thranduil  
> hoggle: thorin  
> toby: frodo  
> ludo: bifur, bofur, & bombur  
> sir didymus/ ambrosius: fili & kili  
> the worm: gandalf  
> humongous: smaug  
> the goblins: various elves  
> the wise man: radagast  
> the four guards: gollum  
> the fireys: spiders  
> the rest of the company to be added/figured out later  
> still subject to change

Bilbo Baggins had always been considered an odd child. While his peers were off playing, he would be sitting at home reading books of far-off magics and distant lands. While his friends were at home studying, he would be sneaking out, looking for dwarves and goblins. Everyone agreed those were very unhobitish things to do, but Bilbo ignored them, for every night when he got home his mother and father would laugh at his tales, telling fanciful stories of their own in turn. For years this carried on with Bilbo going off being entirely un-respectable, his love of fantasy and mythical creatures being nurtured despite the disapproval of his fellow shirelings. For a time, everything was perfect.

But at the young age of 16, not even halfway to his majority, his mother and father passed away. With his loving parents gone, young Bilbo no longer knew what to do, lost without their guidance. He knew they would want him to be happy, and to go on as he wished, but such was not the life thereafter of Bilbo Baggins. He no longer had the freedom to explore, so instead he turned to his books and to his home, to Bag End. All he had left of late Bungo and Belladonna were doilies, tableware, and, most importantly, stories. While never truly able to replace the feeling of his father’s embrace, or able to replicate the full-bodied laugh his mother would give as Bilbo would tail in mud with a sheepish grin, spinning a tale in front of the fire of his empty home would help to diffuse the silence and shadows in his heart. And when he felt most alone, most desolate, he would take out the storybook Belladonna gave him after her final adventure, and read it aloud as if she was right next to him, listening.

But still, there was only one story that would truly be able to fill the hole in his heart. The last story he ever heard his parents tell. Their only story that Bilbo never heard the end of. It was never written down, and never again was Bilbo giver a chance to hear it, but he knew that if he were to know the ending, a part of him would heal. It was a fantastical story, about a journey, and bravery, and hope, and most importantly about family.

But that was not what made him need to know how it finished, no, it was more complicated than just that. For, while it was just a story as any other, Bilbo could remember the day Bungo sat him down before the fireplace, face grim but for a small smile upon his face. Most importantly, he could remember the words his father had said, in fact it was stuck in his memories whether he wanted it or not. “Do not forget, Bilbo my boy, that all myths come from legends, and all legends come from truth. These stories are a lesson, and we must take them to heart. But, no matter what happens, what truly matters about these stories is what we get out of them. It’s the feelings they give us that are important. And this story for today could be more important than all of the others before. Here now, come closer to the fire.

_You have surely heard the tales, of course, of how when a young hobbit has a son or daughter, niece, nephew, or anysuch under their care that they do not want, that they simply say to the elvenking, ‘I wish you would come and take this child away.’ Such superstitions have been passed down as long as anyone can remember. But it is not something to be taken lightly, lest our children be stolen away. For, as we all know, words have more power than we could ever truly understand. Well, this is the story of how that came to be. Long ago, there were more lands and creatures than there are known today. Of course there were hobbits as there still are, and men still roamed the lands then as they do now, but there were others. First were the dwarves, a hardy race that lived in mountains mining gold and gems. Next were the elves, graceful and fair, who seemed as if they were made out of moonlight. All four races lived in peace, aiding each other in times of trouble and benefiting from each other’s crafts. But it was not to last. For Thranduil, one of the Elvenkings, was vain and selfish, and coveted natural beauty above all else. This in itself was not of consequence, but when visiting Erebor, kingdom of the dwarrows, he laid eyes on a young hobbit lass. Her hair shone as spun gold in the sun, and eyes like the dew clinging to grass in early morning, and her fell in love with her._

_But to his despair, she was already bonded to another, the crown prince of Erebor. Tirelessly he tried to woo her, to persuade the queen he was a far better match than any dwarf. He offered eternal youth, and luxury beyond compare; but she could not be persuaded, for she was in love with her husband, and could not imagine a life without him. Years went on as he tried to win her heart, but the only change was when she gave birth to a healthy child. This was the last straw for Thranduil, for when he learned the news, he knew there was no hope for him. But he was not one to suffer silently. With his great magic, he put a curse upon the dwarrows, separating the lands of dwarves and elves far away from those of hobbits and men, so that the dwarven king would forever be separated from his wife and child. The king was transformed into a goblin, unappealing and grotesque, forced to do the elvenkings bidding, else there would be no guarantee for the safety of his people, and would have to carry that fate forever onward._

_Meanwhile the hobbit and her child continued to live in the shire, with no way of rejoining their family. But even that was too peaceful a fate for them, according to the elvenking. Despairing to see the woman he loved raising another’s child, he took the young boy from his mother for his own, making the child disappear. ‘Oh elvenking, I swear to you,’ she cried out, ‘You will give me my child and husband back! I will not surrender so easily.’ But her stubbornness and bravery simply made his desire for the hobbit more, and he did not listen to her demands. ‘Marry me,’ he told the lass, ‘and I shall give you your child back. I will turn them to an elf, and we can raise them as our own. Your husband is already dead.’ But the lady hobbit did not give in. Instead he replied, ‘If your child is truly what you desire, then come and get them. You have two weeks to find him in my castle, else he will become an elf and be my own child. Come, my kingdom awaits.’ Then, he disappeared._

_And so the hobbit queen moved forward, finding an entrance to the forest kingdom of Thranduil's. Guarding the gate was an unseemly, unattractive thing, more creature than person, but she treated him kindly and he showed her the way into the kingdom. Little did she know the goblin creature was her husband, under the elvenking’s spell. He said nothing, feeling unworthy in his new form and afraid she would not love him now, but wished for nothing more than for her to find and rescue their son who had been stolen. He did not know she would have loved him regardless. Tirelessly she fought her way through the trials of the forest, making her way through a labyrinth of trees and facing many deadly foes. Eventually, she made her way to the castle. When she finally confronted the elf, Thranduil tried to reason with her, to make her choose him over her child. But still she did not give in. Defiant, she spoke the words bubbling forth from her heart, ‘Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here to the castle beyond the forest to take back the child that you have stolen. For my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom is as great..._ ’’

..but that is enough for tonight, don’t you think, Bilbo? I’ll finish it up tomorrow. You, by dear boy, need to get to bed.”

But the story was never finished. The next night, while Bungo and Belladonna were out walking in the woods, they were attacked by wolves. And Bilbo never knew why this story resonated so deeply within him, other than that it reminded him of his parents. But he did not know just how much truth was in such a tale. He never knew how the hobbit queen escaped the forest kingdom, but was unable to save her child. He never knew how after years of grief, she remarried a hobbit lad, having many more children. How the elvenking had cursed the hobbit’s descendants so that one day she would be reborn among her line, and should they or any other descendants ever call upon his to steal a child, he would do so, taking them as his own. How each lad or lass whose child was stolen was given a chance to steal them back, and that should they succeed, Thranduil would know his love had come back once again, knowingly or otherwise. And most importantly, Bilbo never knew just how much all of it had to do with him.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still in the introductory phase, so I apologise it it's a bit slow since im still sorta introducing the universe and all that. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy!

Bilbo was 34 when the course of his future changed irrevocably. He started his day normally, as a respectable hobbit like himself was wont to do. Getting up with the dawn, cooking breakfast with preparations for the second in tow, and sitting and getting out little books and toys for any young relations that may be visiting that day. Perhaps he could open the windows, for the weather was near perfect, and it would be a right shame to waste it. In fact, it turned out he was not the only one with such ideas. Sunny, with blue skies broken apart by the occasional fluffy cloud, and a soft breeze: absolutely perfect weather for going on a boating trip, or at least that was what Primula and Drogo thought. Just a day to themselves, possibly with their 12-year-old son off at their favourite, and only, cousin Bilbo’s house, so they could spend an evening without a care in the world. Indeed, it was a peaceful day when Bilbo’s cousins died.

At first on that fateful day, both Bilbo and Frodo went on, oblivious to the loss they did not yet know had occurred. Just happy conversations, story-telling, and playing in the garden with the neighbor, Samwise. Truth be told, there was nothing Frodo liked better than going to visit his uncle’s house. 

But when the sad news reached Bag End that evening, things seemed to darken in the world of the two hobbits. What was once a fun day with the family became a day for mourning, and Bilbo found himself not only with his two dearest family members gone, but apparently with a young hobbitling now under his care. A young hobbitling who was all he had left. _Something should be different_ , Bilbo thought, _there should be a chance in the world to reflect this tragedy. The blue should look more grey, the soft breeze biting, and every cloud be pouring rain_. But still nothing changed.

He was much too young to raise a child, barely past his majority, and little Frodo deserved better than him. But, they were the only family he had left. Sure there were the distant Sackville-Bagginses, but they would much rather have his silverware than his nephew. And the Brandybucks as well, but they were practically strangers to young Frodo, and had far too many children to take care of besides. No, Bilbo would raise him. And, for all his life, Bilbo knew he wanted a child more than anything, even if he was never the slightest bit romantically interested in his fellow hobbits. Still, he would appreciate being a parent. Not like this, of course, for he would gladly forgo such a tragedy, but Frodo still was orphaned, and Bilbo still was well off and able to support a little one. Perhaps he was simply destined to raise this nephew. Even if the reason for such a chance was too painful an experience.

* * *

 

“You get down this instant! You hear me? Get. Down. Right. Now.” Bilbo glowered, looking up at the tree his nephew decided to climb up. Truly, he would never get a moment’s peace, not with that insufferable little hobbit to look after. Did he have any self-preservation at all? He loved the lad, by the Green Lady he did, but sometimes the trouble Frodo got himself into was ridiculous.

Said young hobbit just stared down, shaking his mass of dark curls and frowning determinedly. “But uncle, I can’t. Pippin said that if I couldn’t climb all the way to the top that I’d be a bad hobbit, and you would send me away to the Elven King. I… I don’t want you to send me away, uncle.”

All Bilbo could do was sigh sadly in reply. It had been four years, and still Frodo thought he was unwanted. At first the worry had been easy to resolve, with them both comforting eachother in the loss of their family. However eventually that need for consolement started to lessen over time, and Frodo thought himself to be a burden on his young uncle. It was the farthest thing from the truth, but no matter what Bilbo did young Frodo never seemed to believe him. And now apparently the other hobbitlings were teasing him for it. Frodo truly deserved better.

“I’m not going to send you away, my boy. You are not a bad hobbit, no matter what Peregrin says. In fact, I daresay young master Took is the lesser hobbit, for saying such a thing! Now come down, and I’ll bake some pecan pies, alright? And perhaps we could go looking for elves again like you’ve been asking to.” Frodo frowned uncertainly, narrowing his blue eyes slightly. Pippin was right about everything, so surely he was right about this? But… Uncle Bilbo was even righter, so perhaps Pippin was wrong, just this once. Yeah, Bilbo was always right about everything. So if he said he could come down, and that he was still a good hobbit, then he was still a good hobbit. “A-alright uncle….” Nodding to himself, Frodo smiled softly. But once he found his resolve, he discovered a slight problem. He didn’t know the way down.

Indeed the task before him was daunting, and he couldn’t help but wonder how he managed to get up there in the first place, but Frodo knew he had to do it. Surely if another hobbit was in his place, someone smart like Sam, or Merry, they would be able to get down without problem. In fact now that he thought about it, Frodo thought that perhaps they would make better nephews for Bilbo than he did. Surely they wouldn’t end up stuck in a tree like he was. No, no, he was a good hobbit, Uncle said so. So if the other good hobbits could find a way down, he could too. Perhaps he just put that foot down there… and shift his weight there…

Suddenly a loud crack resounded throughout the air, and Frodo found that he wasn’t standing in a tree anymore. In fact, he was rather confused as to where he was, at the moment. No longer in the tree, but certainly not on the ground, either. And when he landed, miraculously, in a pair of arms, causing both to land on their bottoms from the sudden change in weight, he realized that he’d been falling.

“Well… that was one way to get down, I suppose. Are you hurt?” Bilbo sat up, setting Frodo down carefully, and checked his nephew for injuries, his gold-flecked blue eyes wide with concern. Frodo shook his head, more worried about his uncle who caught him than himself. It was all his fault anyways, so even if he was hurt it would’ve been alright. But it seemed as if they were both fine, so Frodo smiled uncertainly. “….Are you still going to make some pies?”

Laughing in relief, Bilbo smiled. “Of course. In fact, I’ll go to the market to get some mixed berries for a pie as well. I know those are your favourite. Just… promise you won’t always listen to what your friends say, alright? Pippin was wrong, and you shouldn’t have to worry about such things. I would never send you away. You’re my little boy, and I wouldn’t lose you for the world. I’m not going anywhere, I promise. And even if the Elvenking stole you away, I would follow him to his castle, and steal you right back. And don’t you dare roll your eyes at me, young man! Really, if I can get back those silver spoons from Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, I can get back anything. And you, my dear Frodo, are far more precious than any silverware.”

Frodo giggled, grabbing Bilbo’s hand. He trusted his uncle. As the two walked home together, he knew that he had nothing to worry about. He wasn’t going to lose any more family.

* * *

 

Supper that night was a simple affair by hobbit standards, and the elder resident of Bag End preferred it that way. The day was quite exciting enough, what with the tree debacle and all, and any added drama could very well drive him over the edge. Raising a child was so much more exhausting than he had imagined, but he was truly enjoying every minute of it. He loved Frodo as a son, and the child loved him as much, even if both well still empty from the death of Drogo and Primula.

Still, the two young hobbits had eachother, and Bag End, and both knew that was enough. Sometimes all they needed was a couple pieces of pie, a nice stew, and a couple dozen biscuits to help fix things up. Good food was, truly, the cure to all ills. And so the night continued on as every other, with supper and then dessert before going to the fireplace for story time. It had become a nightly tradition, much like the one Bilbo’s own parents had done, and it left a bittersweet feeling in the center of his chest.

Truthfully, he was unsure of how well he was able to raise his nephew, despite doing his best. He was still young, and most people his age were off trying to find a good husband or wife. In fact, he himself had caught the eye of many such people, even if they did often consider Frodo to be ‘extra baggage.’ Bilbo was, after all, a relatively attractive and particularly rich and respectable hobbit despite his oddly lax upbringing and the child under his care. Yet whenever a pretty hobbit lass or lad would invite him over for tea or give a bundle of roses, tulips, and primrose, he would always easily decline, finding Frodo to be more important. It was perhaps selfish of him to Raise Frodo, for there were surely people better suited to such a task, but Bilbo was unable to give his nephew up. **  
**

And that uncertainty was most likely why he would sit down, every day, and tell Frodo the same stories he once heard from Bungo and Belladonna, sharing the brightest parts of his past in the hopes that one day, he could be as good a parent as his own were. Smiling down at his nephew as he settled down by the fire, sipping a warm cup of tea, Bilbo raised an eyebrow at the younger Baggins.

“So what story would you like to hear today? Perhaps the tale of a magical ring, and the brave hobbit who bore it? I know that one is a favourite of yours. Or one more magical, like a tale of thirteen dwarves, who ventured out to reclaim a homeland stolen by a dragon? Or one of elves, graceful and beautiful like no others? Or would you like to hear something new?”

Frodo hummed consideringly, staring into the fire in concentration, before brightening suddenly. “Oh, uncle! Would you tell me about the Elvenking? You know every story about everything, so surely you must know this one too! No one else is able to tell me it all.”

And just like that, every crack in Bilbo’s heart caused by his parent’s death bled anew, and his eyes shined with the light of unshed tears and he smiled softly down at his nephew. For each throb of his heart then became a bittersweet reminder of what he lost, and memories of his parents burned anew.

“Frodo, I can tell you the beginning of this tale if you truly want, but not how it ends, for I do not know the ending.” At this news Frodo frowned, but was not overly sad. A story incomplete was not a story at all. But, all stories had endings eventually, didn’t they? “Uncle, uncle, we can make our own ending!”

And just as suddenly as the wounds reopened, the pain dulled. Because Bilbo was then reminded of what, or who, he had gained. He knew then, somehow, that his parents would be proud of who had grown up to become.

“Why, my dear Frodo, that is by far one of the most marvelous ideas I have ever heard. Indeed, we shall make our own ending, together! But first, we need to know the beginning. So listen carefully, my boy, because, as my own father once told me, all myths come from legends, and all legends come from truth. There is a lesson in these stories. Now, where to start. Well, I suppose the best place for that would be the very beginning. _Long ago, there were more lands and creatures than there are known today…_

_… Eventually, she made her way to the castle. When she finally confronted the elf, Thranduil tried to reason with her, to make her choose him over her child. But still she did not give in. Defiant, she spoke the words bubbling forth from her heart, ‘Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here to the castle beyond the forest to take back the child that you have stolen. For my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom is as great..._ ’’

There was silence for the longest moment, and Frodo looked up with rapt attention. “Well… I suppose that is all I know, my dear. What happened next?”

Frodo stroked his chin as if smoothing an imaginary beard, staring thoughtfully into space. “Well… I think she faced Thranduil down, and they had an epic battle. And when she won, she got her son back, breaking all of the Elvenking’s spells! She found out her husband was alive, and they went off together to live under the mountains, where they had more kids and made a big, happy family, where they still live together!  And the Elvenking gave up, seeing how happy they all were, and decided to live as a hermit in the woods, leaving everyone along. And everyone was glad. The end!”

Frodo giggled, smiling, and altogether quite proud. He made the perfect ending, no doubt about it. Seeing his nephew’s happiness, he couldn’t help but smile in return. “I see, that is quite a lovely ending. So no one has to worry about the Elvenking stealing away any children, do they?” Frodo nodded vigorously. “Yup! He never bothered anyone ever again!” Giggling, Frodo realized how silly he was earlier that day, up in the tree. Of course he wouldn’t get stolen away! Not only would Uncle never do that to him, but there was no one who would do anything to him to begin with! Most silly indeed. This realization just caused him to laugh even more, jumping up to run around his uncle, dodging around furniture as he dashed throughout the smial.

And Bilbo just watched, grinning and laughing along as his nephew skipped around. “Is that so? Well I’ll be, I never knew he was so easy to defeat!” Setting down his tea, Bilbo playfully chased after his nephew. He was still young, but he wouldn’t be forever, so he might as well play along with Frodo while he still had the energy. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not here to steal you away!” Frodo squealed in delight as the was chased by his uncle, alternating between trying to hide and stay out of sight and running away as fast as he could. “You’ll never catch me uncle!” he yelled as he his under a blanket, peeking out from under it.

Slowing dramatically, Bilbo made a show of looking around, searching for him ‘hidden’ nephew. “Now where could he be? I know how to find out! Perhaps this will draw the boy out!” Taking a deep breath and lowering his brows, the older hobbit frowned menacingly. “I wish…. I wish…”

 Frodo held his breath, trying to keep his giggles in as Bilbo slowly approached the blanket. “I wish the Elvenking…” _Wow_ , Frodo thought, unable to hide his childish laughter, _my uncle is so clever. Using the Elvenking to make me leave. But I’m not going to! He’s never gonna find me._

And find him Bilbo did not, for as soon as his finished saying the words, ‘I wish the Elvenking would take young Frodo away,’ the laughter stopped. So Frodo was going to play at that now, was he? Rolling his eyes, Bilbo walked over to the blanket. “Where could he be? Did the ' _Elvenking_ ' take him away?" But the usual laughter again did not come. Slightly more worried now, Bilbo frowned. “Frodo?” And once again there was only silence. “Frodo... I know you’re under the blanket. You can come out…”

When the laughter failed to peal out once more, Bilbo cautiously reached for the blanket. Frodo was never this quiet, not after the first three months at least, and it was so unlike him. There was nowhere he could have gone. Unless… but that was impossible. _Bilbo, you fool. Stop scaring yourself._ As he pulled the blanket away, the hobbit froze. For where the young hobbitling was moments before was now empty.

**Frodo was gone.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any questions, comments, or critiques are more than welcome, so feel free to leave a comment or message me on my tumblr (swag-canada.) Likewise, kudos and the like are much appreciated.
> 
> Also, if anyone wants to be a beta-reader, I would be much obliged.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, I was at a Con last weekend, and had to plan for it before that. Either way, I hope you all like it and stuff. And sorry it it isn't perfect, I'm still fleshing everything out a bit and trying to find a writing style that best fits the story.

For a moment, it seemed as if time had stopped. _This can’t be happening. It's not possible. No, this is all just a trick, Bilbo, he just went off to hide in the other room._

 

The thoughts swirled around Bilbo’s head as he felt himself beginning to panic. Everything seemed to be catching up with him, and he stepped back to grab a chair for balance, unable to stand on his own. He needed to think about this logically, he could do that, right? He was Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, and he did not believe in petty fairy tales made to scare young fauntlings. The Elvenking couldn’t exist, could he? No, of course not, that would be simply be crazy! He was only a bedtime story. So, of course, if he did not exist then he could not steal away Frodo. But then, where could his nephew be?

Frantically the hobbit searched through the blankets, and when they failed to contain his dear nephew, he ran to search the rest of the house. From the bedrooms, to the pantry, to the garden he searched, looking for any sign of Frodo. When Bag End proved to be completely empty, he ran to the neighbors to see if he was visiting Sam. And when that procured no results he checked the other nearby smials, even going to the dreaded Sackville-Bagginses’ house. But each trail ended up cold. Finally, he ran to the tree where Frodo was climbing earlier. “Frodo? Are you up there?” Once again there was no reply.

Out of ideas, Bilbo knew all he could do now was return to where he started and hope Frodo would return, and if he didn’t, continue searching the next day. Perhaps Frodo would be found by someone throughout the night and return to his room by morning. With only the barest of hope still flickering in his heart, the hobbit returned home, staring around the forlornly silent house.

It was too quiet. Too empty. Bag End was meant to be filled with joyful laughs, excited chattering, and the light pitter-patter of young hobbit feet. But now, it seemed to be nothing more than the tomb it had been before a certain young fauntling had wormed his way into Bilbo’s heart. All at once the worry and helplessness washed over him anew. “No no no nonono… my dear Frodo. Where are you?” When yet again there was no reply, Bilbo sank to his knees, looking dejectedly at where Frodo was not too long ago. There was nothing he could think to do.

“Your nephew is perfectly safe,” a smooth, disinterested voice spoke up from behind, causing Bilbo to flinch as he quickly looked up to the speaker, “I daresay, he’s safer now than he ever has been before.” Blinking in shock and unintentional astonishment, Bilbo stared at the man before him, mind blanking slightly. Clearly this was no hobbit. In fact, he was not quite like anything Bilbo had seen before. Flowing, silken platinum hair was brushed back behind delicately pointed ears (much more elegant than Bilbo’s own) to reveal a streamline face, cold blue eyes, and a stern brow. His figure was tall, lithe, and imposing, and held a sort of power one would be unable to ignore. The clothes he wore were shimmering silver, made of the finest silks and satins, and seemed to flow off of his very being. It was as if the very air around him was shimmering in response to his presence. He was complexly exotic, unearthly beautiful, and it was impossible deny he was of a fairer sort.

And yet Bilbo could find nothing but dislike for this man. This man who, apparently, had somehow materialized into the middle of his house. And who knew where Frodo was. And, based on if those previous assumptions were correct, quite possibly was the reason for his dear nephew’s disappearance. Glowering upwards, Bilbo frowned.

“What would you know about my nephew’s well-being, stranger? Who are you? I hope for your sake that you’re willing to speak, for I am hardly in a mood to deal with any nonsense!” The hobbit huffed stubbornly, barely managing to mask his panic and unease. This situation was starting to make too much sense, and he wished he could just ignore the thoughts tugging at his mind. It was crazy. It was impossible. And yet it seemed to be the most likely scenario.

(Now I find it important to mention that Bilbo was hardly a dim hobbit, nor was he stupid, or slow. In fact, he was one of the brightest in the Shire, and was considered quite the scholar among his peers. It is important to remember that in some cases, it is not stupidity that prevents one from understanding the truth, but rather the fear of their more intelligent assumptions being true. And Bilbo truly, from the bottom of his kind hobbit heart, did not want his assumption to be true. So when the taller man began to speak, Bilbo was scarcely able to find it in himself to listen. If he listened, it might make it true. But as Bilbo was a Baggins, he was also a Took, and Tooks did not like being in denial, and they most certainly did not ignore things that would affect the well-being of those they loved. If nothing else, he would listen for Frodo. Frodo was most important. He _had_ to listen. But he certainly did not want to.)

“Do you truly not know? That is rather surprising, for you are the one who called for my aid, are you not?” Upon the hobbit’s flinch, the man allowed a small smile to tug up the corner of his lip. It was not a warm smile, or even a kind smile, but rather a blank one, emotionless and cold but for a small touch of depreciating humour and the slightest, almost imperceptible mirth. “Ahh, so you do know. Are you afraid the acknowledge it, then? Do you wish to take it back? I am here only because you asked so of me, after all.” Bilbo looked up sharply, angrily. Angry at himself or at the other man, he did not know, but the anger was there nonetheless. “Yes! Yes I do wish to take it back! I demand you give me back my nephew, mister ‘Elvenking’! Give Frodo back! Right now!”

Thranduil chuckled. “Well, you certainly have spirit, of the likes of which I have not recently had the pleasure to experience. Since I find you to be particularly likeable, I shall give you an offer, and one I do not make often,” he paused, searching the eerily familiar (though the elf could not completely place what exactly was just so familiar, and dared not hope for the reason he first thought in response) scowling face below him for any sign of his resolve wavering. “Forget the boy. He is of little consequence to you, not even your own son. Forget him, and I shall raise his as one of my own. He would become an elf, and live happily amid my kingdom. Leave him, and I shall give you a gift.”

From out of his silver pocket he withdrew a stone most beautiful, so as no other could compare. It shown as if lit from within, its soft glow entrancing to the eye and ensnaring to the heart. It was a stone the likes of which men would go to war over. “This is the Arkenstone. It is worth more than the whole of your Shire combined, and can bring power and prosperity to whomever holds it. One of a kind, I assure you, and yours if you so desire it.” Bilbo stared, his hand reaching forward on its own accord. It truly was a beautiful gem. The way it sparkled and shone was magical, it’s ethereal light enchanting, and Bilbo felt he could spend the rest of his life watching and never get bored of the images in its depth. What would be the harm in having such a deal? With this Arkenstone in his possession, anything else would just be a distraction from it’s magnificence.

“That’s right, and all it will cost is one little boy. What say you to my offer?” One little boy...  _Frodo._ Bilbo froze. How could he ever forget about Frodo? Even for a moment was horrible enough, and he knew he had to get his nephew back, no matter the price. Such a wondrous stone. ...but only a just a stone. Shaking his head cleared, Bilbo growled. “Get that accursed rock away from me. I want my nephew. And I will accept nothing less than having him here.”

Thranduil pulled back in surprise, before smiling cooly. “If that is so your desire. I must say, I’m slightly disappointed. But I suppose it is to be expected.” Sighing, the elf pulled back, pocketing the Arkenstone. With a snap of his fingers, the world seemed to spin, fading as everything dulled to a lifeless monochrome blur. And, as suddenly as it started, everything stopped. And they were no longer standing in Bag End. Instead, they were standing before a wall of trees so dense there was no clear way through, so high it was near impossible to see the top. Looking around, Bilbo took in his surroundings. “Well I’m certainly not in the Shire anymore….”

Thranduil coughed softly from behind him to regain the hobbit’s attention, raising an eyebrow. Cooly regarding the hobbit, the elf gestured to the dark, foreboding woodlands before them. “You have two weeks.” Blinking in confusion, Bilbo frowned. “Two weeks to do what, exactly?”

“Two weeks to find my castle at the center of the forest. Manage to do this, and reach your nephew before the time is up, and he is free to go. Fail to do so… and he stays. Forever.” Thranduil smirked.

“Welcome to my kingdom, master Baggins. I do so hope you enjoy your stay.” With a wave of his hand he disappeared, nothing but a small clock and a lingering haze left in his wake.

“This is madness,” Bilbo muttered to himself, “how am I to make it to the castle if I cannot find a way into the forest? For that matter, how is this even real?”

Bilbo paced the ground, approaching the forest, but even up close he could find no entrance. It seemed hopeless. Indeed the situation made no sense, and came to be too much for one simple hobbit to go through so unexpectedly. And just like that the day caught up to poor Bilbo, and everything faded to black.

* * *

_Sunlight. It shone everywhere. It was filtering through the spread-out trees to make the leaves glow a bright emerald, shining on the tall grasses like waves of gold coming alive in the breeze, and reflecting off the jeweled metal statues at the entrance to the mountain. Their mountain. On that warm, sunny day, everything was beautiful, everything was peaceful, and everything was perfect. Truly, there was nothing more that a hobbit could ask for. For probably the first time in a long while, there was nothing in that young hobbit’s heart but pure happiness. And if that happiness increased tenfold when a certain dwarf prince’s arms wrapped around said hobbit, beard tickling their neck as the prince smiled softly against it, well, no one else had to know. That moment belonged to the two of them, and the two of them alone._

* * *

 

Bilbo groaned, promising himself never to drink so much again. How much ale did he even have last night? The hangover was terrible, and he was hardly setting a good example for his nephew. And did he fall asleep on the couch or something? Because he certainly wasn’t in bed, it wasn’t comfortable enough for that. Perhaps he was at the Gamgees’, or something. Most likely. Either way, it was far too early to be thinking, even if he did probably need to get up and check on Frodo. And make some tea, to help the developing headache. With a groan, Bilbo sat up and gingerly rubbed his temples. Resigning himself to a painful morning, the hobbit slowly opened his eyes… and promptly discovered he wasn’t at the Gamgees’. In fact, it looked as if he wasn’t even in the shire. Did he get so drunk that he had wandered off to Bree or something? He truly hoped that wasn’t the case, someone had to look after Frodo.

_Frodo._

Ignoring his headache and nausea, Bilbo quickly sat up, looking around the room frantically. He couldn’t remember everything that had happened, but knew enough to understand that he didn’t have enough time to sit there dormantly. Scanning the area, he noticed that he was in what appeared to be a small bedroom, littered in meaningless knickknacks and a variety of wooden and stone handmade furniture. The bed in which he lay was small, as if made for another of the little-folk just slightly larger than himself. A small window was open to the side, just wide enough to let in small amounts of light and a light breeze, but not large enough for anything to fit through. A closed door was on the opposite side of the room, made crudely out of wood with a small metal lock near the handle. And, most importantly, he was alone.

Whoever brought him here, be they friend or foe, had left. Bilbo knew he had to leave, on the off-chance that they would keep him from moving forward, which he somehow knew he couldn’t allow himself to do. The details of his situation were blurred, but they were slowly but surely starting to come back to him regardless of how little they did or did not make sense.

_A dark forest. A tall, fair man. An urgent need to move forward. The Elvenking. Two weeks. Frodo._

Climbing out of the bed, Bilbo quietly crept towards the door, hoping to slip out unseen. Whoever found him unconscious may not have harmed him, but when still outside the forest, bodily harm did not seem to be the main concern. What he truly needed to avoid was being held back. He couldn’t allow anyone to prevent him from rescuing his nephew; and if anyone tried to stop him, well, he could not guarantee his actions, but quite likely a bit of fighting would be involved.

He needed to find Frodo, he was all the family the hobbit had left. No matter what, regardless of how dangerous it might become, Bilbo would find him.

With this conviction, the hobbit stepped forward and pushed the door open, peering through quietly to the small kitchen and living room. Everything was a mess, with dirty pots and pans thrown about without rhyme or reason. There was no stove or countertops, the only apparent method of cooking being the fireplace that seemed to be part of what would, were it larger, be considered a family room. Across from the fireplace was a patched up couch which looked ready to fall apart at any given moment. And the entire room, combined of both parts, was no bigger than the foyer of Bag End. Everything was uncomfortably cramped, yet somehow barren, and despite the things littering about, it appeared to be more of a living place than a home. For some odd, inexplicable reason, this filled Bilbo with a subtly, quiet sorrow. To have a house but not a home was a sad situation, one he knew much about from personal experience. That was much what his life was, after his parents death and before he got Frodo. Not everyone was lucky enough to have a fun-loving nephew to help them find happiness.

And as Bilbo stepped back after finishing surveying the room, he heard the tell-tale creak of a door opening. He was no longer alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any questions, comments, or recommendations are welcomed, and feel free to contact me either on here on on my tumblr (swag-canada.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> If there are any other parings you want me to add, or any other sort of advice/ideas/questions you have, just leave a message or an ask on my tumblr (swag-canada)


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